


What Goes Missing

by phrenitis



Category: Stargate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrenitis/pseuds/phrenitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a beat – comfortable silence, she thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Goes Missing

_“To find the sea she had to turn her back to it,  
stroke.  
The sea is a wound  
& in loving it  
she learned to love what goes missing.”  
\-- Esta Spalding, ‘August’_

==

They don’t say much even after a few months on _Destiny_ – _hi_ on occasion, or _lieutenant_ in passing – sometimes an awkward pause depending on the circumstance.

Scott runs them through the abandoned section near the bottom of the ship where oxygen is low and the temperature is just above freezing. Greer groans most days, eventually lags behind, and he’s not even the most reluctant.

In time, people get busy, or bored, and even Greer drops out until eventually it’s just the two of them running at 0500, or 0400 when he’s being particularly difficult. Maybe it continues because he has something to prove. Or maybe because she has something to gain.

“Keep up,” he’ll say without looking back.

==

It’s a nine and a half hour wait on a dreary planet the color of ash, just the two of them, a small kit of supplies, and her hand pressed into his side to keep the rain and blood at bay.

“Tell me that story,” he says, and she can hear the pain in his voice, see his hands clenched. “The one with you and TJ the first week in base camp.”

It’s not an especially flattering story – she’s had prouder moments than ones that mixed alcohol and firearms, and a narrow escape out of a court martial to boot, but it also earned her a coveted place on the team ( _and made history_ , he’d said).

She recounts the story as she replaces the bandages, does her best to clean and stitch. It’s sufficient, not elegant, but he gains a bit of color back when the bleeding stops. She’s incredibly relieved, anxiety finally beginning to abate.

“It’s still a good story,” he says when she finishes.

“Just try not to die today, okay Scott?”

He does his best to nod, gives a weak smile. “Yes ma’am.”

There’s a beat – _comfortable silence_ , she thinks. His fingers find hers, hands slick with rain and mud and blood.

“You can thank me later,” she says and pulls away.

==

In the mess they sit on opposite sides of the table, TJ to her right, Chloe and Greer to either side of him. They talk tactics for half an hour – defense fortification and force dispersal, countermeasures and what would inevitably be retreat with their limited weaponry.

Only she notices Chloe get up and leave.

==

They are so few, and the ship so big, she’s not often missed.

She sits with her back to the wall, a bottle of Brody’s good stuff ( _not the diluted crap_ , and he knew exactly what she meant) at her side, and thinks of home. There’s not a whole lot she misses – her dog definitely, her car, holidays with her brothers – but it was duty first, even then.

Scott finds her on accident, some anomaly or other coming up on the sensors, but it’s apparently not urgent because he takes a seat beside her, shoulder bumping into hers as he settles. She offers him the bottle.

He drinks too deep, expects the usual, and coughs most of it back up. “Damn it, James. What the hell _is_ this?”

She shrugs, amused. “Special order.”

He gets the hang of drinking it quickly enough, or maybe it just goes to both of their heads – the stuff is potent. They don’t talk much, content to pass the bottle back and forth.

“Kind of feels like old times,” he says, and she agrees. He leans back, head resting on the wall as he looks at the ceiling.

“Bad day?” she asks.

“Chloe stuff,” he says, waves it off. “Sorry.”

She’s not sure where to take it from here. They haven’t exactly talked, much less discussed what happened between them. “Want to talk about it?”

He shoots her a look of surprise. “Really?”

“You have somewhere else to be?” She’s deflecting, she knows this, but it’s not like any of them have much choice in confidants nowadays.

“No. I just thought…” He trails off, not wanting to say what they’re both thinking. He gives her the bottle back, and she knows he’s watching her mouth when she drinks.

“You and me,” she says, lies, “that was then.”

His brow furrows slightly. “And now?”

Alcohol is muddying the space around them, the bottle close to empty. She thinks about that first week at base camp with him. She knows he’s thinking about it too, and he doesn’t move when she removes her gun, fumbles around him for his and sets them off to the side out of reach.

“Just in case,” she explains.

 

 _-Fin_


End file.
